


Hot 'n Cold

by shroomfairy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eren/Armin on the side, M/M, bits of humour, dom!marco, first time gay sex, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shroomfairy/pseuds/shroomfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had he hit on him back there? Did another guy really hit on him? Scratch that. Had he actually been hit on by another person. A living, breathing human being? Such a thing hadn’t happened in quite a while. And the phone number. Wasn’t that like an invitation for a date or something?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot 'n Cold

Why the hell did he let himself get talked into this? Outvoted five to one, Jean still couldn’t quite find it in him to accept his rather dull-looking fate. Of all the things his friends could have come up with on a cold, cold winter evening, they had decided on going ice skating. 

Freaking ice skating! Really? Wasn’t that something for kids, he thought while tying his hockey skates. Looking around with disdain, he sure spotted plenty of snot-nosed, little brats, Why not visit Trost’s famed Christmas market and get shitfaced on hot mulled wine instead?

“You sure you want to start with those? You said you’ve never gone skating before.” Sasha pointed out skeptically.

“I’m not wearing those!” Jean shot back, rolling his eyes at her figure skates. “They look gay!” 

Armin smacked him over the head.

“ _You_ look gay,” Eren informed him coolly.

Jean flipped him the bird. He still couldn’t believe Armin was dating that prick. It was beyond him what he saw in that arrogant, little shit. 

Of course, Jean had nothing against gay people. Armin was one of his best friends. Plus, he had his first kiss with another boy. It would be pretty damn hypocritical of him to dislike anything gay. Also, in his opinion, there was gay, and then there was _gay_ —and, gay aka cheerful or fun-loving, or whatever the hell that word once used to mean in the olden days—but he was talking about _gay_ gay. Figure skates were _gay_.

Aside from that, Mikasa was wearing hockey skates, too. Mikasa, his on-and-off not-so-secret crush, whom he had sworn to impress today, at long last. Needless to say that plan was not going to come to fruition yet again, as Jean embarrassed himself pretty much the second he stepped on the rink. He fell flat on his behind quicker than he could yell _fuck_ , limbs flailing pathetically.

Eren, Armin, Connie, and Sasha found immense joy in his misfortune whereas Mikasa didn’t even seem to notice, happily making her rounds and leaving all of them behind.

 _Stupid, slippery shit,_ Jean cursed. Pulling himself up on the wall of the rink, he gritted his teeth. Beginner’s bad luck, he told himself, determined not to let the ice get the better of him. His endeavours would remain futile, however, and quite soon he was rather fed up with the whole ice skating thing and everything related to it.  
Why was this so difficult for him? None of his friends seemed to have as much trouble with it. Not even Connie the Dork. Then again, he did have help, in form of Sasha.

And Eren? Of course, the idiot aced the whole thing! Gods, he would’ve loved to see him slip and fall, too. Just once would be enough, and face first, please! Really now, Eren’s one and only redeeming factor was Mikasa being his adoptive sister.

“Are you okay?” Someone asked then.

Jean turned his head, looking at a hand held out to him. He took it without thinking twice. At this point, he was far too angry to care about complete strangers taking pity on him.

“Is today your first time on the ice?”

Jean clenched his jaw. _Wow, look at you, Captain Obvious!_

He wanted to glare at the guy, for being such an annoying smartass, but his feet slipped yet again, and he crashed into his chest instead.

“Careful!” The stranger chuckled.

By now, Jean was blushing furiously with rage. “Sorry...” he mumbled, finding himself caught in a powerful embrace.

“Perhaps, you should change skates. Hockey skates can be difficult for beginners.”

He wanted to snap at that, despite not even knowing this obnoxiously friendly person, who sounded too kind to direct his frustrations at. Why did everybody, even strangers, keep insisting on telling him what to do anyway?  
But then he noticed the boy—man?—was wearing figure skates himself, even though he had a build much broader than Jean’s own. Not very _gay_ , a voice inside his head told him, cynically, and so he swallowed the already half-hearted insults forming on his tongue.

“Yeah, maybe I should,” was all he said instead, still holding on to the stranger’s shirt for support.

Why was he so flustered? Sure, his performance had been hilariously pathetic, but still!

“Let’s get you off the ice then. Here, take my hand.”

Without any objections—and wasn’t that strange?—he did. On their way, Jean would slip twice. Both times, the other man would catch his fall with ease.

“I’m Marco, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Jean...,” he grumbled, doing his hardest to keep himself upright. “Wasn’t my idea to come here, just so you know! _Friends_ made me!”

Marco gave a soft laugh. “If you’d like, I could teach you, Jean.” 

Normally, he would’ve found such an offer condescending, from someone whom he didn’t even know, but there was something about this Marco guy that just wouldn’t allow him to be his normal, brusque self. Funny that.

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” he said while making a lazy gesture. “I mean, I obviously suck at this. I better stay with the audience, before I break my neck or something.”

Only then did he actually look at the other man. Dressed in all black, and truly a body Jean could only dream of, he stood there.  
Nope, definitely not _gay_. He frowned again. Marco returned that frown with a kind smile, warm dark brown eyes meeting his.

Jean answered that smile with a stupid grin. _Why are you still blushing, Kirstein?_

“Are you sure? It could be fun.”

“Nah, wouldn’t want to bother you. I’m a lost cause. I think my sense of balance is fu—uhh, shot.”

“Well, then, Jean. Have a good day,” Marco shrugged, still smiling, before he turned round to get back on the rink.

For some odd reason, Jean regretted having said no the moment the man left.

 

As he sat there, looking at people skating—some of which were quite talented whilst others were just as bad as he himself was—Jean sighed. 

There, in the distance were Connie and Sasha, holding hands. The cuteness of it made him pull a face and also wish he, too, had a girlfriend. A few metres ahead of them he spotted Armin and the Douche, holding hands as well. Here, he grimaced. He really couldn’t stand Armin’s boyfriend. 

_Seriously, what do you want with that asshole?_

He didn’t see Mikasa.

Then his eyes fell on Marco. Marco definitely stood out, sliding across the ice as if he owned it. He made it look so easy, too, moving around the rink as if he were barely touching its surface.  
Jean didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone move with such grace, least of all a man. It was captivating to watch, even though Marco didn’t do anything out of the ordinary—such as those spirals, flips, or jumps one saw in competitions on TV. 

Was he a pro? Certainly looked that way. Would explain that body of his, too. 

“Yo, Earth to Kirstein!” Someone snapped their fingers in front of his eyes.

Connie.

“What?!”

“You’ve been staring at that guy for five minutes straight now. Someone you know?”

“That’s not very straight, you know,” Eren added. “Checking out random dudes.”

On a normal day, he would’ve set the idiot _straight_ for his stupid comment, even though, deep down, Jean knew he deserved it. Instead, he bit his cheek, remembering Marco’s strong arms catching him, and the scent of his cologne of which he’d got a whiff of when his face had been buried in his chest. Not to mention those cute freckles. 

Hold on. Why was he thinking of that guy’s freckles now? What did the freckles have to do with any of this? Whatever this was. Who cared about something like freckles anyway? Also, cute? Did he really just think of another man’s freckles as cute? And the cologne. Seriously, what was up with that?  
But it had smelled so nice... Not to mention expensive.

“We’re getting something to eat. You want some, too?” Connie then asked him, ripping him out of his musings again.

“A hot dog.”

He didn’t notice Eren’s smirk, or how Connie elbowed him for it. For some reason, he was unable to tear his eyes away from Marco, wondering what he’d be capable of if he had the rink all to himself. Those crazy mid-air pirouette jump thingies, whatever they were called, maybe? Or catch a girl, lift her up, and twirl her around? Probably. After all, he’d managed to keep him from planting his ass on the ice without any trouble, despite his violent flailing. Really, a stranded fish probably had more grace!

Jean never had cared much for figure skating before. Sure, from a certain point of view, it was impressive, and it definitely required a lot of talent, not to mention physical strength, but he’d always found it rather boring to watch. He preferred football, the only sport worth following, in his opinion. And yet still he could not look away. 

Before he knew it an hour had passed. A whole hour in which he’d been observing Marco. Marco, who was now exiting the rink. Part of Jean was saddened by the fact that he seemed to be leaving already. He really did enjoy watching him.  
There was a brief moment where their eyes met, and Jean immediately looked away, felt as if he’d been caught red-handed. He didn’t see Marco walk over to him, mind occupied with most chaotic thoughts on how and why he couldn’t stop thinking about him, his stupid freckles, his stupid cologne, or the way he’d held him. ... which he’d only done so that Jean wouldn’t end up killing himself.

 _You’re acting like a stupid girl with a stupid crush on a stupid celebrity._

Suddenly, a folded piece of paper dropped on his lap. 

“Call me?” It was Marco, again bestowing him with that soft, kind smile which made his stomach flutter.

One brow lifted questioningly, Jean unfolded the paper. A phone number was written on it. What?  
When he looked up, trying to ignore his accelerating heartbeat, Marco already had left.

“What the—?”

 

Pacing up and down in his room, Jean stared at the paper in his hand, at Marco’s handwriting. Neat, small print that told of a sure and steady hand. Compared to it, his own penmanship was illegible.

Had he hit on him back there? Did another guy really hit on him? Scratch that. Had he actually been hit on by another person. A living, breathing human being? Such a thing hadn’t happened in quite a while. And the phone number. Wasn’t that like an invitation for a date or something?

Should he call him? What if it was indeed an invitation for a date?

 _Oh screw it,_ he thought and pulled out his phone. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose, right? 

Jean had put in about half the numbers when he noticed his fingers were shaking slightly.

“Are you kidding me? It’s just a stupid phone call!” He muttered to himself, typing in the rest of the numbers. “It’s not like he asked you for a blowjob!” Saying those words out loud dyed his cheeks a faint red.

He let it ring twice, then hung up. “Idiot.” Glaring at the phone, Jean hit redial, only to hang up again. Four more times he would do this, always with the same result. Annoyed, he threw the phone on his bed and flopped down next to it. 

_No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend. You can’t even bring yourself to ring up some random dude!_

Not so random, though, was he, considering he had made him blush? And not only that. Jean couldn’t stop thinking about Marco, about his smile and his voice; deep yet gentle. His scent. The feel of his chest, his arms around him, and him holding his hand...

He flinched harshly when, suddenly, his phone rang. Withheld number. Jean didn’t stop to think twice when he picked up. He only knew one person who had their own number blocked. 

“What is it, Springer?” He snapped.

“Is this Jean?” Someone Decidedly Not Connie asked. The voice sounded distantly familiar, though.

“Uhh... yeah? Who’s this!?”

“Hey there! It’s Marco.” Of course it was.

Heat instantly shot to his face, even though he was all alone in his room. “A-ah—yeah! Hi Marco?” _Fuck!_

“Hi! I was wondering when you’d call.”

When? Did he just say when? Not if. When!

“Y-yeah—well, uhm, how are you?”

For the majority of the conversation, Jean kept his face buried in his hand, stuttering his way through most awkwardly while fidgeting on the bed.  
There was no way Marco didn’t notice, but he didn’t seem to care either, nor did he hint at how Jean had kept calling him without giving him the chance to actually answer.  
In the end, Marco invited him for drinks. Jean couldn’t quite remember how he managed to say yes, too focused on his rapid heartbeat and the strange coiling in his chest and stomach. 

Once they’d hung up, he noticed his hands were sweaty.

 _Is this like a date now? Am I going on a date with some guy I’ve just met? A guy?!_

Marco hadn’t used the word date, but getting invited for drinks pretty much equalled a date in Jean’s book.

 _I’m going on a date with a guy. I think?_

Picturing two men together had never disturbed him. His parents were pretty openminded about these kinds of things, too. Out of curiosity, he had even watched gay porn before. While it hadn’t done all that much for him, he hadn’t been put off by it either.  
He also was comfortable enough in his own sexuality to admit when he found another man attractive.

And Marco? Well, Marco was quite handsome, wasn’t he?

 _Guess that makes me bi-curious then._

He wasn’t so sure about the sex part, though. Maybe he should ask Armin for advice.

 

“So, Armin, I always meant to ask: does it hurt?”

Today was the day.

“Does what hurt?” His friend looked up from his notes, a kiwi-pineapple smoothie in one hand.

The day of his first date in what seemed like forever—

“Uhh, well, you know. Butt stuff.”

—and also his first date with another man.

“Oh my God, you did not just ask me that!” Armin sputtered, shooting him an indignant look.

Jean shrugged, aimlessly poking around in his salad with a fork. He was blunt by nature, had never understood why people were so uptight when it came to talking about sex. Yes, the school cafeteria was a public place, but there weren’t any children nearby, and the tables next to them weren’t busy either. 

“Just say yes, or no!”

“No! I mean, no. No, it doesn’t. Why do you ask?”

“Because.”

“Because, what?”

“I’m curious, is all.”

“You’re blushing, Jean.”

Armin did that thing he always did when he knew Jean was hiding something from him. He could tell from the way he was looking at him, as if he was scanning his freaking brain!

“Arlert, I’ll have you know that straight people do it in the butt, too!”

“Oh, do they?” Someone behind him sniggered.

And there was the Douche.

“Dude, I’m man enough to admit that I’ll try everything at least once!” Jean snarled. “You got a problem with that?!”

“So, this has nothing to do with that hot skater boy then?” Eren drawled before he gave his boyfriend a peck on the cheek. 

“Oh, him! Yeah, I remember him. He was indeed good-looking,” Armin added with a grin. “I must say, you have good taste, Jean.”

“Man, fuck you guys!”

Of course, Eren would go and gossip to Armin about Marco. Knowing him, he most likely had blown the whole thing completely out of proportion, too. This was Eren Jäger, Douche Deluxe, after all. 

“Hot skater boy?” It was Sasha. “Where?”

Next to her stood Connie, Millius, and Millius’s girlfriend, Mina. Wonderful. With most of the gang assembled, everybody soon would be singing the tale of Jean Kirstein and his crush on Hot Skater Boy. 

“Oh, I think they’re talking about that dude from the rink. Freckled Wonder on Ice, remember? Johnny Boy here kept ogling him, like, forever.”

“I did not!” For this, Jean threw at him a cherry tomato, from his salad. “And don’t call me that!”

“Yes, you did!” Connie caught the tomato before it hit him in the face. Really, his dexterity was amazing.

“Did not!”

“Did, too! Now, shut up, Johnny Boy,” Connie munched on the tomato while stealing another from the salad, to give to his girlfriend.

“Okay, maybe I did! And guess what!? He gave me his number!”

Now, he definitely had everybody’s attention. Sometimes, Jean really wished he was less prone to saying whatever came to his mind. 

“So, what? You’re gay now?” Millius inquired. 

Jean rolled his eyes. “Newsflash, dickwad: bisexuality is actually a thing!”

“And?” Armin asked, slurping his smoothie.

“And what?! What do you want me to say? That, according to Freud, we’re all born bisexual!?”

“Wonder what your mom would have to say about that,” Millius laughed.

“Leave my mother out of this!”

“It’s a joke, assface. Freud and moms? Get it!?”

“Have you called him?” Armin again.

Jean slapped Connie’s hand away which was now poking around in his salad, for more tomatoes. “Yeah?”

“And?”

“Oh my God, Armin! And and and, what!? I’ll meet him tonight! God! That’s what!” 

Why was he getting so worked up over this?

“And you two?!” Here, he turned toward Connie, and Sasha who had joined her boyfriend in stealing things from his salad. “Just shove it down your throat already!”

“Aww, it’s date!” Eren cooed which Jean did his hardest not to react to.

Armin chuckled. “My, my, you must really like him. I’ve never seen you this excited. What’s his name, by the way?”

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Jean leant back in his chair, not looking at any of them. “Marco.”

“Marco? Like, Marco Bodt?” Mina, who’d kept to herself till now, wanted to know. 

“Who’s Marco Bodt?”

“He’s a figure skater who won silver in the Winter Youth Olympics. You mentioned freckles, and that he was good on his skates, so I was wondering,” she continued. “He's moved here recently.”

Mina used to be a figure skater herself when she was younger, so, of course, she would know about these things. Up until now, Jean hadn’t even known such a thing as the Winter Youth Olympics existed.

“That him?” Millius asked, holding up his phone and showing around a picture of Marco, which he had found on his Wikipedia entry.

His Wikipedia entry. The guy actually had a fucking Wikipedia entry!

“Yep, that’s him all right,” Connie said.

“Ohh, someone’s got a date with a celebrity!” 

“Shut up, Jäger!”

“Will you get me an autograph?” Mina again.

“Says here, he’s out and proud, too,” Eren continued, having snatched Millius’s phone from his hand.

“Nice catch, Johnny Boy! You dog!”

Jean couldn’t speak, face burning. 

Great. Not only was he about to he have his first date with another man, no, it had to be with a famous man of all things. 

“Yeah, thanks a lot, guys! Thanks a lot! No pressure or anything, right?!”

“Hey, Tomato Boy,” Connie continued to laugh, and pelted one such fruit at Jean’s forehead. “Cheer up!”

 

Upon having found out about Marco’s identity, the levels of Jean’s nervousness had risen exponentially.  
Being a known professional athlete probably meant Marco had money, and lots of it. As such, he most likely had certain expectations, too. For example, expensive restaurants Jean couldn’t afford. Sure, Marco wasn’t Lady Gaga levels of famous, but still.

Again, he was pacing up and down in his room, freaking out about what to pick as his outfit for the evening. That, too, was something he hadn’t experienced before. Normally, he’d just throw on whatever fell out of the closet, so to speak. Now, though, he really had a hard time deciding on what to wear. He felt like one of those girls before prom night; the unrealistic, stupid, cliché-riddled kind one found in those stupid romantic comedies his sister liked to watch. 

How _gay_!

What if Marco did take him to one of those fancy bars or clubs with dress codes, though? What was he supposed to do then? Those places often didn’t allow jeans or sneakers. He had one good suit, but that would’ve screamed “overdressed”, or rather “trying way too fucking hard”.

“I’ve never seen you like this, Jean,” Armin shook his head. “Calm down!”

He and Eren had accompanied him home. Jean asked Armin if he could spare an hour, and the idiot brazenly had tagged along. So much for his hopes of wheeling some kind of advice out of his friend. He really could’ve used a few pointers here and there. Alas...

“Give him a break,” Eren sniggered, lying back on Jean’s bed as if it was his own. “It’s his first time after all.”

“Shut up!” Jean hissed, glowering at several shirts scattered on the floor. _Why the fuck are you even here? No one invited you!_

But Eren did have a point. It was his first time going on a date with a man. And, maybe, it would result in his first time with one, too.  
Oh God! Only now the thought occurred to him. Then again, amongst those formerly mentioned expectations he assumed Marco to have, that probably ranked quite high on the list, if not at the top!

_Shit!_

Being rich, famous, and successful, the guy surely was used to getting whatever and, more importantly, whoever he wanted. Gay or not.  
After all, he did say “when”, and not “if”, as in, Jean not calling him had never even crossed his mind. 

_Shit, shit, shit!_

“Shit!”

“You’re worrying too much,” Armin said. “Just be yourself.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, man. Only the first time hurts.”

“Eren!”

Face burning, Jean turned away from them, wildly gesticulating at the closet instead. “But what if— what if he—well, you know!” 

He wished he’d never learnt about Marco’s celebrity status. Somehow, it made the whole date thing even more scary than it already was.

“You mean, what if he wants to fuck you?” Eren laughed. 

Did he have to put it that way? Really? And, even more curious, since when did he, Jean, have a problem with such vocabulary?

“No! I mean, yeah, that, too! But what about this shit?!” Here, he kicked a pair of jeans across the room. “What if he drags me to some fancy-ass restaurant!? I don’t have that kind of money!”

Eren tilted his head, finger to his lips, as if thinking long and hard. “You got lollipops?” He finally said, a dead serious expression on his face.

“What?!”

“Lollipops, man. You got some?”

“No!?”

What the hell?

“Bananas then?”

Jean frowned. “What are you—“ And then it rained down on him. “Oh fuck you, Jäger! Seriously! Fuck you!”

The other boy merely shrugged. 

“Eren, stop it!” Armin tried to keep a straight face, but failed. “You’re not helping!”

“What? If he thinks he has to compensate Hot Skater Boy for dinner, paying in kind universally is considered an acceptable form of trade for these kinds of things— _ow_! Hey!” 

Armin may have been small, and slender in build, but he was by now means weak. Something which Eren found out the hard way right now, being wrestled to the ground and poked and prodded mercilessly.

What if Marco did indeed expect something like that in return, though? Jean pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the two of them causing a ruckuss behind him. What was he to do then?  
Too bad he didn’t have any lollipops or bananas in the house. Sure, Eren had suggested those in jest, to rile him up further—and didn’t it sound ridiculous, too!—but it might have come in handy to have at least a little bit of practice.

 _Awesome. Here I am, trying to get ready for my first date with a guy, and all I can think about is sucking dick. Wow! Good job, Kirstein. Good job! I’m so proud of you!_

 

In the end—you wouldn’t believe it—the Douche had been the one to pick his outfit. At first, Jean had wanted to object. Eren Jäger and deciding on his outfit? Jean had expected some kind of an ulterior motive, like, Eren grabbing the chance to make him look utterly ridiculous. He wound up being surprised, though. The outfit Eren chose might have been a bit bland, but overall it wasn’t that bad. A pair of loose fit, dark blue denim jeans, a simple, cream coloured shirt, and a pair of white sneakers. Eren had gone for those because they were the only uni-coloured pair Jean owned, and also the least likely to scream “I’m so straight, I don’t even eat hot dogs”—whatever that meant. 

Since when did sneakers give away one’s sexuality?

Something about him looking authentic, Eren had added then. No real insults attached. It was the nicest thing the Nuisance had ever said to or done for him.  
Okay, maybe a tiny insult did manage to worm its way into his words there in the end, but, hey, this was Eren Jäger! Of course, he wouldn’t be able to resist making at least one stupid comment. If Jean was honest, though, it was kind of their thing to do. When it came down to it, he was no better either.

 

Marco had said he’d pick him up at seven. They had agreed to meet at the bus stop near the mall in Jean’s neighbourhood.  
Jean arrived a little early, and for the past ten minutes or so, he’d kept checking his watch. By now, it was two minutes past seven. Becoming more and more anxious by the second, he took turns with sitting on the bench of the bus stop and pacing in front of it. Jean had done a lot of that lately, pacing.

Traffic around this time of the day was insane, he knew that, what with people wanting to get home as quickly as possible. Plus, they had heavy snowfall the last couple of days. 

_Two minutes, really? You’re going crazy over two fucking minutes?!_

The freezing cold did not help matters, only made him tremble more.  
Winters in Trost usually were mild, but this year turned out to be one of those freak exceptions. 

Jean hated winter. 

Aside from that, his thoughts refused to stop revolving around what the evening might possibly entail to.  
Maybe, just maybe— _you think?_ —he shouldn’t have watched videos of Marco, which Armin, ever so curious by nature, had looked up on Youtube.  
The ones of him skating were one thing. But the interviews? Those really had done him in. How could any one person be so nice and charming and sexy at the same time?

There. He’d done it. He’d finally used that word for Marco, if in his head only. _Sexy_. 

The video of the performance for which he’d got Olympic silver particularly fit this description. Also, calling it impressive did not do it justice by a long shot.  
The category had been pair skating; proof of Marco’s strength. Sure, his partner had been comparatively tiny, but Jean believed to understand enough of the laws of physics—the merits of centrifugal force, acceleration, and whatnot taken into consideration—to know that even a tiny girl such as this Annie Leonhardt person still wouldn’t be too easy to lift up when she came racing towards you. Marco aside, he knew no one capable of catching an estimated fifty kilogrammes flying at you. Especially not whilst you were sliding across a surface so slippery one misstep could kill you both. Okay, maybe that last part was a little extreme.

 _‘I can tell you this much, Kirstein: you’re in for one hell of ride!’_

He would’ve punched Eren for that comment, if the idiot hadn’t sounded so impressed himself.  
Marco’s outfit had indeed not left much to one’s imagination; its design minimalistic but elegant. Skin-tight and all black, safe for one petrol-coloured stripe going diagonally across his torso, it had outlined his toned body perfectly.  
And Armin’s well-meant attempts at calming him down, mostly consisting of sweet-natured speculations, proved to have the exact opposite effect on his agitated mind.

Things like “Who says anything has to happen?”, “Maybe he wants to get to know you first” and “It’s of no use getting worked up over these things now”, _blablabla_. Things Jean had been trying to tell himself all along, but to no avail.

 _Yeah, right. Who are we kidding here?! He’s a guy. Guys think about sex all the time. You’re a guy! You think about sex all the fucking time! Does one and one not make two?!_

Whenever he had gone on a date with a girl, his ultimate goal had been to get into her pants; regardless of how much he liked her as a person. She could’ve been an angel descended from Heaven, and he still would’ve hoped to be banging the shit out of her by the end of the night. From what he could tell, all men were like that. Well, safe for Armin, maybe. Not that Jean actually bought into this whole innocent-look-thing his friend got going. He was convinced Armin was no different from him or any other guy he knew. Armin merely wasn’t someone for sharing details. 

_Bet you’re the worst of us all, Arlert!_

Too busy shivering, freaking out on the inside, and pondering countless, possible outcomes, he didn’t notice the car that had just pulled up beside him.

“Hey Jean!”

All of a sudden, Marco stood before him. Oh God, he wasn’t ready yet! This was too sudden. And that damn smile! It had been haunting him for days now! Jean had got himself off thinking about that smile, and not just once. Luckily, his cheeks already were red from the cold breeze, or else he would’ve given himself away right then and there, blushing like a stupid virgin from those stupid, tacky romance novels his mother liked to read.

 _You are a stupid virgin, though. At least when it comes to men, stupid._ A realisation he could’ve done without just fine.

“Yo!” _Stop grinning like a fool, Kirstein_.

“Glad you came.”

And __you? Stop being so stupidly hot! “Uhm, thanks. I mean, same!”

God, this was awkward. Not even one minute into their date—it was a date, right?—and already he was blabbering. 

Marco chuckled and gestured at his car. “Come on, let’s go. It’s cold out here.”

A black BMW. Of course, it had to be a BMW. A fucking 650i convertible with matte finish at that! God, it was a beauty! Eight cylinders and 407 HP under its hood, with an acceleration from 0-100 kilometres per hour in 5.0 seconds. Jean had a thing for cars. And that baby was a dream.

 _Hot ride_. A thought instantly reminding him of Eren’s words. ‘In for one hell of a ride.’

Honestly, though, he wouldn’t mind doing the nasty in that car, or on its hood. Images of him going down on Marco sitting in the driver’s seat popped up in his head. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? _Fuck!_  
Also, Marco sure liked black, didn’t he? Safe for a claret-red scarf, he was dressed in all black, too—coat, trousers, and shoes. He could pull it off, though. Somehow, it looked radiant on him, instead of gloomy or depressing.  
Must be that smile, Jean thought. It made his eyes shine, lit up his whole face. The freckles only added to the picture.

“Gladly.”

Marco even held the door open for him. Had he been beamed into some strange, alternate universe? For once, Jean truly was grateful for the freezing winter wind.

 

At first, he would busy himself with staring at the dashboard and concentrating on the deep resonance of the car engine. The latter did funny things to his insides, especially his stomach. Then again, that could’ve just as well been stemming from the proverbial swarm of butterflies going haywire in there.  
Butterflies in one’s stomach... What an idiotic, over-the-top line. Ludicrous, really. It described his current state perfectly.

“So, uh, you—is it true that you are—I mean, my friend said she recognised you.”

What a lame attempt at starting a conversation was that, please? _Hey, you! I know we’ve just met and shit, but you’re famous, right?_

“You mean to say, am I Marco Bodt?” Marco glanced at him sideways. If he was taken aback or offended, it didn’t show.

“Yeah—” 

“Yes, I am.”

“She asked for an autograph. Can she have one?”

Marco quirked a brow at that, but nodded anyway. “Sure.”

Usually, smalltalk came easy to him, and under normal circumstances, Jean didn’t have any trouble chatting up people either; strangers, acquaintances, and friends alike. He was a social butterfly, so long as things stayed casual. Even authority figures weren’t much of a problem for him. Right now, though, he found himself struggling with every single word. And the things he did end up saying came out sounding utterly pathetic.

“So, uhh, where are we going? I don’t think I can afford any of the places you wanna go to—” _Wonderful! Just keep going like that and he’ll throw you out of the car. ... while it’s still moving!_

Marco looked at him through the rear-view mirror, amusement dancing in his eyes, “Don’t worry. I invited you, remember?”

Jean twiddled his fingers, wishing there was a restart button for situations like this. At least, Marco seemed to find him funny. If funny was the correct term to apply here, instead of, say, laughable.

“Sorry, man. You must think I’m the biggest idiot you’ve ever met. It’s just... I’ve never done this before.”

Honesty was the best policy after all, wasn’t it? Honesty was his thing. Besides, what else did he have left? They’d been in the car for about five minutes, and in his opinion, he’d made an ass out of himself thrice already.  
He had to do damage control.

“Done what? Been on a date with another man?”

Damn, he was direct! Also, he’d just used the magic word. Now it was official. This was indeed a date. Jean’s heart did a little jump.

“Yeah, that...” he mumbled, his reply a few seconds delayed.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

Okay, wow! 

Now, that did not leave much to one’s imagination, did it? Exactly how many ways were there to interpret such a statement anyway? Jean could think of but one as he sunk deeper into his seat, body slowly warming up to its heating system. Face burning, the swarm of butterflies in his stomach transforming into one of killer bees instead, he missed the smirk playing around the corners of Marco’s lips. 

“You got some music?” 

Anything to distract from his awkwardness. Anything to give him time to get himself under control. Marco nodded and turned on the CD player, appearing to be suppressing a grin. And was that a wink just now?

 _You’re not even drunk yet, and already you’re imagining shit!_ Jean couldn’t wait to hit the bar. A drink definitely would help his situation.

The sounds then filling the car were a surprise; the first of many more to come. A synthetic, uplifting melody, accompanied by slightly distorted vocals. Harmonic in their nature, quickly joined by unmistakable hi-hat patterns and snares, followed by a fastpaced breakbeat featuring heavy basslines. Jean had expected something more “sophisticated” or “highbrow”, such as Classical, or Jazz, maybe. Something befitting Marco’s appearance and profession. An assumption supported by the fact that he used Classical exclusively, for his performances. Drum ‘n Bass, though? Certainly not what he would’ve associated him with. Connie was big on it, too. 

“I have a friend who listens to that.”

“Your friend’s got great taste then,” Marco flashed him a grin.

It went straight to his loins, that grin.

Marco’s soundsystem was something to behold, too, and envy him for. The volume wasn’t even that loud, yet he still could feel the deep sub-bass lines of the track seep through him. And despite its tempo, it had a paradoxal, calming effect on him. 

“Tell me about yourself, Jean,” Marco said, after another moment of not-quite-as-uncomfortable-as-before silence. “You already know who I am, but I know next to nothing about you.” 

Jean still found himself tongue-tied, though. Needless to say, it began to seriously frustrate him. He’d never been this shy around anyone before.  
Not even Mikasa. This shit had to end. Now!

“Hi, I’m Jean Kirstein, and I have a bad case of saying stupid shit before thinking. Nice to meet you!”

Marco eyed him for a split second; a look Jean couldn’t read. Was that skepsis, he saw? Indignation? He wondered if he’d gone too far now, if this was the last straw. But then Marco let out a snort, only to burst out laughing. Seconds later, the poor guy was holding on to the steering wheel for support, shaking with laughter. Good thing they’d just hit a red light. Relief washing over him, Jean grinned. 

Maybe the evening wasn’t doomed just yet.

 

Marco took him to a cocktail bar called Utgard Lounge. Jean had heard of it before. It was famous for its location, having been built into the ancient wall surrounding Trost. According to legends, the wall once had housed giant creatures that protected the city. Those legends were supported by the fact that there were large, human-shaped hollow spaces inside the wall which indeed looked as if creatures of at least fifty metres in height used to be trapped in them. Now, Jean didn’t believe any of this, but it made for a good story. Stories the locals would tell their misbehaving children to this day. _Behave, or the titans will come eat you!_

The bar’s interior, however, stood in a strong contrast to such sinister tales. Its design reminded of 1970s science-fiction, had absolutely none of that mythical fantasy normally connected with the place. Round tables and cubic couches, minimalistic decoration; the main colours being black and white, with hues of red, yellow, and blue. 

Marco ordered their drinks; a whiskey for himself, and a Long Island Iced Tea for Jean. They began to talk about this and that, and Jean gradually became more comfortable around him. Now, that he was finally loosening up, he found Marco was surprisingly easy to talk to and—another surprise—his sense of humour of a darker shade; something he valued greatly in a person. None of that politically correct bullshit for him, please.  
They shared quite a few interests, too, even supported the same football team; Eintracht Shiganshina. The latter came as yet another surprise to Jean, considering Marco was from Jinae. On that note, one could barely make out a dialect when he spoke. It was obvious only from the way he rolled the R, which, in Jean’s opinion, sounded incredibly hot. Not that he would’ve had the guts to tell him as much. Not yet, at least.

Marco had started skating at the age of five. According to him, his coach was a small, evil man with an extremely foul vocabulary, who had won Olympic gold twice.

“Evil? How so?” Jean asked, nursing his cocktail.

“Think drill instructor. Annie—my skating partner—and I are to call him ‘Sir’ or ‘Captain’.”

Jean let out a disbelieving snort, “For real now?!”

“Yes, for real. And whenever my performance is not satisfactory to his expectations, he calls me ‘Shitty Fag’. He’s perfectionist, so, basically, that is all he ever calls me.”

“Woah, that’s—isn’t that—what do you call it?—hate speech, or something?!”

“Well, it would be, if he weren’t gay himself.” Marco shrugged. “I’ll admit his methods are rather unorthodox, but they are effective.”

In turn, Jean told him about school. Chemistry and math were his favourite subjects, but vector analysis was giving him hell, something that seriously frustrated him. Marco tried to comfort him by telling him he had barely managed to get his Abitur thanks to math, and that he hadn’t understood anything related to it from eleventh grade on. History and foreign languages had been his forte.

“I swear, I can’t even order food in French without doing unspeakable things to the grammar. It’s sad, really! My grandparents are from France, you know...” Jean confessed. “And my English pronounciation is so horrid, it makes your ears bleed. All Zs instead of ‘th’, and _ugh_. Not gonna lie, I’m a walking cliché, man!”

He learnt that Marco was half Italian, had grown up bilingual. Next to German, he spoke three languages.

 _I take it that’s not a fake tan then,_ Jean thought, resisting the urge to run his fingers along Marco’s cheek. His skin looked so smooth to touch—without a single visible blemish—he wanted to find out if it was indeed. Part of him began to wish they weren’t sitting across from each other. 

They would continue with their favourite movies and video games next. Jean argued that the XBox was inferior to the PlayStation, to which Marco replied he preferred computers to consoles, because they had superior specs to both, ergo, better performance. 

“Yeah, well, that may be so. But at least I got to play GTA V way before you did!” Jean quipped. 

Marco let him know he had never denied owning a console.

“Aha, so you’re that kind of guy!” Jean narrowed his eyes, all in good fun. 

“I’m what?” Marco laughed again.

God, he loved that laugh. It was intoxicating, just like his smile. The urge to touch him in some way became ever stronger. 

“Fraternising with the enemy, that kind of guy!” 

For this, he was rewarded with a smirk, “Ah, but the Dark Side is so much more fun, Jean.” 

Despite that line, Marco actually preferred Star Trek. Jean, on the other hand, was into Star Wars.

“I hope this isn’t a deal breaker.” 

“So long as you promise to never use the prequels against me!”

“I could not ever be so cruel! Though I do have to admit they were rather, ah, subpar?”

“You mean they fucking sucked!” Jean fidgeted on his seat, but not out of nervousness any longer. 

Over the course of the past two hours, a certain warm and fuzzy sensation inside of him had been increasing steadily.

“Your words, Jean. Not mine!”

Marco liked horror movies. While Jean didn’t mind gratuitous gore, he explained that psychological horror would rob him of his sleep. Of course, the latter turned out to be Marco’s favourite.

“I’ll never watch _The Descent_ again. Or any Japanese horror movie, for that matter!” Armin had a thing for the latter. One of these, called _Audition_ , had actually made Jean leave the room.

“But those are the best!”

“You can’t make me!”

Marco merely grinned at him, as if to say “We shall see about that”. Jean bit his cheek. 

“Would you like a refill?” Marco asked then, nodding at his empty glass.  
Jean caught himself staring at his lips—they looked so soft and pliable—absentmindedly muttering something about having poor tolerance for tequila. Marco shook his head at that, pointing out he’d just finished a Long Island Iced Tea, _extra long._ Jean blushed.

“I’ll go with a beer.”

Eyes following him to the bar, he noticed again with how much grace Marco moved, his steps sure, elegant, and poised. Reminiscent of a cat on the prowl. Not a tiny, cute cat, mind you, but a big one. Like a panther. A black panther. Chewing on his bottom lip, Jean thought of kissing him. With a girl, he probably would have made his move by now. With Marco, though, he didn’t quite trust himself to take the first step. Jean couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the dynamics between them somehow felt different from what he’d experienced with girls so far.  
How was he supposed to approach him? He couldn’t just go and tell him he wanted to kiss him. That sort of shit only worked in movies, even with girls.

“Is this seat taken?” A girl interrupted his thoughts, pointing at Marco’s spot. 

_Well, there’s an opportunity,_ Jean thought mischievously, thanking whatever deities might be looking down at him tonight as he shook his head at her. When Marco returned, he gave him an apologetic shrug, eyes wandering from him to the girl. Marco didn’t seem to think any of it, handing him his beer and sitting down right next to him. Their knees touched briefly, which caused a pleasant shiver to jolt through him.

Damn, he really did want to kiss him! 

In a way, it was funny because Jean never had cared much about kissing before. Sure, he’d done it, for the sake of whatever girl he’d been with at the time, but he himself had never particularly enjoyed it. It was wet and messy, and so far it just hadn’t done anything for him. Still, here he was, wanting for kisses.

“You ever been with a woman?” Maybe talking about _it_ would get the ball rolling. 

Marco leant back, putting an arm on the back of the couch; a move he, too, had just thought of doing. “A few times.”

Jean himself had slept with two girls so far. His last girlfriend, Hitch, had broken up with him about half a year ago. No hard feelings; they’d simply drifted apart. Although, he did miss the sex. The sex had been great.

“Speaking from a purely physical aspect, it was okay, but something always was missing,” Marco continued.

Jean nodded, taking a huge sip from his beer. Ever since the break-up, he’d made out with one other girl, and even that lay four months in the past. Needless to say, he was more or less blue-balling by now. Perhaps, he had to be more bold with Marco. Edging a little closer, he brushed his hand along the man’s shoulder, let it linger a bit longer than for it to be considered an accident. From experience, he knew an innocent caress here and there did wonders when it came to girls. It told you rather quickly if they were interested or not. Marco, however, did not react in a way familiar to him, though his eyes wouldn’t leave him now. A look Jean couldn’t get a read on. Amused? Inviting? Challenging, maybe? To be honest, he couldn’t get a read on Marco whatsoever. He didn’t fit any stereotypes he knew, gay _or_ straight. _Fuck, he really, really wanted to kiss him!_

In the background, a soothing melody was playing, featuring a deep beat. Rolling over him and making everything vibrate, it reverberated in his very core. Female vocals with a hypnotising voice, made to sound vintage—reminding of 1940s swing—were lulling him in. 

“I had my first kiss with another guy.”

Never before had he been this aware of his surroundings. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, a loud rushing in his ears that was making his head spin.

“Did you like it?” 

“We were twelve, so, hm, I don’t know? It was kind of weird. More of a trial and error run, so to speak?” 

Marco nodded.

Okay, screw subtle! Subtle wasn’t his style, and it didn’t seem to be working on this guy anyway. 

“You wanna get out of here?”

Marco cocked his head slightly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Sure. Where would you like to go?”

 _God-fucking-damnit, make this hard on me, why don’t you?!_

“Uhh, my place? Dunno? The parental units are pretty openminded, but we’d have to be real quiet.” _Excellent choice of words, Kirstein. Excellent choice of words!_ “Also, I have an annoying sister. So—your place, maybe?” 

Marco nodded once more, grinning, and finished his drink. “Let’s go then.” 

Jean’s stomach did flip-flops when he caught that grin.

Knees wobbly, he stood up and checked if he still had everything on him. Phone. Keys. Wallet. Check. Then his eyes fell on the girl from before. Grinning at him also, she gave him a thumbs up. Jean furrowed his brows. Was he that obvious?  
Although, if she got it, then why didn’t Marco? Was he dense, or something? Shy? Nah, he doubted it. Marco didn’t strike him as shy. _What’s his deal, man?!_ Giving her a thumbs up in return, stupid grin plastered all over his face, Jean made his way outside.

 

The cold hit him like a brick wall. It must have been snowing for a while, too, the sideways and roads completely covered in powdery white. 

“Are we gonna take a cab?” The car obviously was out of the question, since Marco had been drinking, too. “I’ll pay.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I don’t live far from here.”

“How far?”

“Ten minutes.”

Enough time to come up with a better plan, Jean thought, wiping off a big, fat snowflake that had dared to land on his nose. He doubted he’d get anywhere with something like taking the other man’s hand; it would’ve been a bit too _gay_ for his tastes anyway. They weren’t little kids playing house. What Jean had in mind strictly was for adults. And until he managed to think of something smart, he decided to talk about gay things. Certainly, not his best of ideas, but hey, he had to get across he was up for more somehow.

So he mentioned Armin. His gay best friend—emphasis on him being gay, though he instantly felt stupid for pointing it out—and also Armin’s asshole boyfriend whom he referred to as King of Douches. Crap! Why would he bring _him_ up of all people?! Mentally kicking himself, Jean gritted his teeth.

“I gather you two don’t get along,” Marco chuckled, breath visible in the cool, crisp air.

That was putting it mildly. And why was it that Marco jumped into the conversation only now when he mentioned his sworn nemesis?

“Ugh, no! I hate that arrogant, little jerk! He’s loud, annoying, and he’s an insufferable smartass. I could go on and on!” 

Marco snorted.

“Not funny!” Jean punched his shoulder, playfully. Oh, blissful contact! “That little sh—I mean, that dork even tried to mess with me because of you!”

Lips curling into a broad smile, Marco raised a brow. “How so?”

“Gave me shitty advice—“ Here, Jean halted, realising he’d just been about to give away truly embarrassing details. 

“Advice on what?” 

“Not important. He’s a douche. That’s all you need to know!” 

Damnit! He was never going to get anywhere with Marco, not like this!  
The snow crunching beneath their feet, Jean angrily wiped another snowflake from his face. Stupid, white bullshit! 

“Tried to get into my head, you know? Cause I’ve never done it with a guy, and stuff—“ Flustered and wildly gesticulating, Jean slipped on the iced-over sideway. “Fuck!”

That hurt! 

Sitting there, in the snow, on his ass, he seriously contemplated murdering Eren and dumping his body in the river—once it wasn’t frozen over anymore.  
All of this was his fault! All of it! 

Laughing softly, Marco held out his hand. “You’re not so good with the ice, are you?”

“No shit, Captain Obvious!” Jean growled

He instantly closed his mouth, though, before a string of colourful curses managed to follow that outburst. Then an idea struck him. The first good one tonight, he might add, and proudly so. A grin spreading across his face, he grabbed the offered hand—

 _All or nothing, buddy!_

—and pulled.

It worked. Caught completely offguard, Marco barely managed to brace his fall. Not leaving him any time to think, Jean crushed their lips together.  
Finally, he had got the other man by surprise; a chance he sure as fuck was not going to waste. 

Eyes wide, Marco let out a soft gasp, mouth opening just a little.  
This was his cue. Slipping his tongue inside, Jean kissed him hard.

Marco tasted _hot_ —no better way to describe it—and his lips were even softer than they looked. His initial surprise was gone almost immediately, though, and he would return the kisses with a fervour that set Jean’s innermost ablaze. Moaning lowly, he arched into the strong body above him, didn’t care that they were next to a major street still very much busy around this time of the night. He didn’t feel the cold ground against his back, or that his jeans were getting wet from snow melting to his bodyheat. All that was on his mind was that mouth on his.

“We should—” Marco murmured in between kisses, “—continue this—“ lips moist against Jean’s when he spoke, “—at my place!” 

“How much farther?” God, he sounded desperate. Already, he was hard, and from kissing no less.

“ _Just across the street_ —” A whisper, accompanied by a hand running through his damp hair.

Jean quickly scrambled to his feet. 

His legs barely managed to carry him to the house Marco had pointed at.  
What were about 120 metres in reality felt like a thousand miles to him. And, of course, once inside the building, he had to find out Marco lived on the top floor. Waiting for the elevator seemingly took an eternity and a half. Or, to put it in layman’s terms, _too fucking long._

God, he needed more. More of him. Right the fuck now! Refusing to wait any longer, Jean pulled Marco into another kiss. Greedily claiming his mouth, he shoved him against the elevator doors just as they were about to open. His attack was met in equal measure, and both them half-fell inside the cabin. Jean didn’t think he’d ever been more turned on in his whole life. _Just from a kiss_... 

The elevator ride passed him in a blur, consisting of groping and grinding, as did the last few metres of stumbling down the hallway to the apartment.  
While Marco was fishing for the keys to his apartment, Jean began to feel his ass up from behind.

“Patience.” Another soft chuckle. 

Damn, what a fine piece of ass! Jean couldn’t resist smacking it

“Let me just— _ah_!” Marco dropped the keys.

“Afraid someone’s gonna hear?” Hands heavy on his hips, Jean ground into him, made him feel how hard he was.

Marco, bent over to pick up the damn keys, gave an appreciative growl and pushed back against him. Finally, _finally_ , he got the door open, the key turning in its lock music to Jean’s ears. The sweetest kind that had ever been.

“ _Oh, they are going to hear all right._ ” 

A promise, voiced in a dark drawl, Jean couldn’t wait to see fulfilled. And Marco would make good on it, in ways he had not anticipated.

The second the door fell shut, Marco was all over him, had him pinned against the wall. His jacket and scarf were the first to fall prey to the man’s passionate assault. Teeth coloured his pale flesh a reddish colour, and so did the hands roaming all over his body, firm, and deliciously rough in their exploring. As rough as the kisses seizing his mouth.  
Clearly, Marco had been holding back until now. What an unexpected turn of events. It was perhaps the biggest surprise yet. Oh, but Jean quite welcomed how forward and demanding Marco was. Normally, he was the one to take charge, so this was a nice surprise indeed.

Barely able to catch a breath, he stood there, not quite as skilled at getting the other man’s coat or scarf off. Marco certainly had the advantage of being taller. It was a bit weird to be the smaller one for once, Jean noticed. All of his girlfriends had been shorter. He was used to hunching forward at least a little when it came to kissing. Soon, his neck was in a strain. Not that he really cared.

“Didn’t think you’d be this _eager_ ,” Marco hummed against his throat. Words so harmless in their nature, how did he manage to make them sound so dirty?

“I’ll show you eager!” Jean panted, shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his shoulders. Damn, he was good with his fingers, not to mention fast! Even his belt and zipper had been undone without him realising as much. 

“ _I can’t wait_ ,” looking deep into his eyes, Marco cupped his face with one hand, thumb gliding over his bottom lip. All the while, his eyes never left him.

Jean thought he was about to combust. No one had ever looked at him with such desire. “Bed, now—“ was all he managed to get out. 

Marco complied at once, dragged him toward the bedroom by the hem of his boxer shorts. 

A large, spacious room greeted him, with a kingsized bed in its middle, and a huge black wardrobe opposite of it. Not that Jean could focus much on his surroundings. Not with Marco on him like this, pushing him towards the bed.

“You’re wearing too much,” Jean tugged at his shirt, flashing him his dirtiest grin.

Fingers under his chin, Marco tilted his head up, “Undress me then.”

Jean didn’t need to be told twice. Nimble fingers quickly went to work, got rid of the offending fabric denying him proper access. Once he made it to his trousers, though, Jean hesitated a little, a distant voice in his head reminding him of how he had never done any of this with another man. Frowning, he brushed it aside. Since they both were, in fact, men, he had a pretty good idea of what to do, and how to do it.  
Carefully at first, he palmed him through his pants, then slid his hand inside them. Touching. Feeling. Getting a feel for touching another man’s cock. Marco was a bit bigger than he was, wider, and he felt so hot. Experimentally, Jean used his thumb on the head and its base, smeared across it the few drops of precome beading there; the way he liked doing it to himself.  
Soft, quiet moans were his reward, to which his own cock responded accordingly. God, he was so horny for this guy, it was ridiculous.

Skillful fingers closed around him in return, their motions slow and steady. Panting heavily, Jean leant against his broad chest for support, took in his scent, and that of the cologne he already noticed when they’d first met. And damn! Marco certainly knew how to make a man weak in the knees. No girl had ever touched him like this. So sure and practiced. At this rate, Jean knew he wasn’t going to last long. 

Marco gave him a gentle push, made him fall back and on the bed, instantly coming to kneel above him. “ _Just how eager are you going to be for me?_ ” He whispered into his ear then, and bit down on its lobe. “Mhm?” Hard enough to make him wince, but not so hard for it to be uncomfortable. Both his hands went for Jean’s wrists as he spoke, securing them beside his head.

Fuck! Apparently, Marco had a rather dominant side to him.  
And, double fuck, did it turn him on!

“Let go of me, and I’ll show you!” Jean growled, voice laden with need, his lips red and swollen from the kisses. Oh, but he liked where this was going.

Marco would not obey his order, his grip tightening instead. The kisses he shared with him then weren’t as rough, but deeper, and still controlling. Jean moaned into his mouth helplessly, in search of more friction, but kept at bay, the man’s hands and mouth the only thing touching him.

“Now, Jean,” Marco broke away, lightly pressing his knee against his hard member. “Tell me your limits.” Dark eyes bore into his, much darker than he remembered them. They had such an intense look to them, Jean swore he could physically feel it on his skin.

“You want to fuck me.” The words came out broken, raspy, drenched with want and desperate for more.

“ _I’d be lying if I said I didn’t_.”

Not for the first time tonight, he noticed Marco had a way with words. He knew well how to make even the most innocent phrases sound downright filthy. 

_Shit!_

Remnants of his earlier nervousness resurfaced, mixing with his ever-growing need. For reasons inexplicable, it did not dampen his lust, rather fed it instead. Jean was adventurous and liked to experiment in bed. Hitch and he hadn’t exactly practiced vanilla-style either, and part of him wanted to tell Marco to go ahead and fuck him—if it hadn’t been for that nagging, little voice in his head.

“It won’t hurt, though, right?” The question sounded stupid, even to him. If it did, people wouldn’t be doing it!

Plus, he had asked Armin that very same question earlier today, but then Eren had to go and show up before he managed to get any specifics. 

“No pressure, Jean.” Marco seemed to sense he was struggling with himself. Tilting his head lightly, he looked at him with a most sincere expression. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” Giving him a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth, he released his wrists. There was no disappointment in his voice, but understanding. 

“Nah, just—on a scale of 1 to 10—“

Marco put both his index and middle finger to his lips, “Shh, it’s okay.” 

At that moment, Jean knew he could trust this man, knew he wouldn’t be pushed out of his comfort zone. Curiosity winning over any remaining qualms, he made his decision. No, he did not want him to stop. Rather, he wanted him to continue what they had started. Shifting in his position, he imitated Marco’s move from just a moment ago, rubbing his arousal with his thigh. Just firm enough to make him suck in a breath.

“ _You tell me now, Bodt,_ ” he whispered against his fingers, using his most seductive and, at the same time, commanding voice. He could do dirty, too, he thought, gently swirling his tongue around his middle finger. 

A look of surprise crossed Marco’s handsome features, though shortlived it was, not even lasting for a second and quickly replaced by a smirk, “Well, to answer your question, Jean: _I know what I’m doing._ ” 

Hearing those words flooded his loins with heat. There was no arrogance in them, no overestimation of his skills; only reassurance of someone who indeed knew what they were talking about.

“Then fuck me!” He barely heard himself say it, head clouded with lust so intense it made him tremble. 

“I’m going to make this an experience for you you won’t forget, Jean. _Promise_.”

More possessive kisses that stole his breath followed this statement. A prelude of what was to come. Marco swiftly freed him from his remaining clothes. There went his jeans, his boxers; gone so fast, Jean could only gape at the man. 

_Just who are you?,_ he wondered, completely in awe. 

Palms traced his burning skin, stroking his thighs affectionately, his hips and waist. As affectionate they were, there was an undeniable hunger in their caress as they scoured his body. Grinding into him, Marco soon had him reduced to nothing but a writhing mess who moved in sync with him, leaning into his touch. Craving more, yet unable to beg for it, for his mouth was still occupied by Marco’s tongue.

And then he was gone.

Jean turned his head, completely dazed, saw him standing by the wardrobe, opening a drawer and fetching condoms and lube. Still wearing his black trousers, Marco gave him a perfect view of his well-toned back. Once he returned, sitting down next to him, Jean made to lie on his stomach, but was stopped by a strong hand on his hip.

“No, I want to look at you,” Marco whispered, eyes burning into him. “I want to see the look on your face when I’m inside you.”

Jean bit his lip, shivering at those words.

“Lie back,” Marco moved to kneel between his spread legs, hungrily taking in his form sprawled out on the bed. “Now, lift your hips.”

He did as asked—ordered?—feeling strangely exposed, albeit in an arousing way. Marco placed a small pillow under his hips, one hand massaging the inside of his thigh.

“ _If you could see yourself right now_ —“ Saying this, he hooked one of his legs around his waist. 

Stomach in knots, the anticipation he felt almost making him queasy, Jean watched Marco drench his fingers in lube. Glistening in the dim light, they moved between his legs, and below. He sucked in a breath once they brushed his balls, muscles tensing up. A hand came to rest on his abs, gently caressing him, and he managed to will his body to relax. It was nothing at all like he’d expected it to be. Slick, and cold at first, sliding into him with ease; only one finger for now, and yet it felt so much bigger than it really was. A sensation Jean didn’t quite know what to make of nor could describe. Odd, but not exactly unpleasant either. And just as promised, there was no pain. 

All the while, Marco observed him closely, eyes not leaving his. Jean never once averted his gaze either. As soon as he’d grown used to the feeling of something pushing into him, Marco continued. Two fingers, then three, not one of them fully inside of him yet. While stretching him further, he wrapped his free hand around Jean’s dick and began to fist it. Having successfully distracted both his mind and body, Marco shoved his fingers in as far as they could reach. Massaging his prostate, they now made his muscles pull taut for a whole different reason. 

Jean hissed through clenched teeth, concentrating on all those new sensations. How could this feel so good?

“Don’t hold back,” Marco drawled, bending over him. “ _Let me hear you_.”

Moans he’d unintentionally forced down broke free, and Jean tightened around the fingers slowly fucking him.

“ _Mhm, do it just like that once I’m inside you,_ ” Marco kept stroking his cock, precome trickling down the shaft by now.

Mind reeling, he lay there, tried to say something. God, he was so hard, he couldn’t think.

“You like that?”

That voice. Fuck, it was driving him crazy! Just like the fingers set on making him cry out for more. Working his muscles around them, Jean threw his head back.

“Y-yes—! Oh God!” At this point, he couldn’t even curse anymore, hips rolling on their own. “Please—!” His own voice sounded foreign to him. 

“Unwrap this for me,” Marco nodded at the condom that lay next to them.

With trembling hands, he did, only to watch the other man put it on and coat himself with more lube. The mere sight made his cock throb, more precome pooling at its slit.

 _Oh fuck! This is happening. This is really happening!_

“Ready?” A question that didn’t really beg an answer.

A sound dangerously close to a sob escaped him, but he didn’t shy away, instead edged closer to Marco. 

“So tight, Jean—“ Marco’s voice lost its steadiness, too, once he started to press into him.

Savouring each inch of his cock being swallowed by his body, Marco went extra slow, lifting his hips and putting his legs around him for support.  
Jean dug his fingernails into his upper arms, trembling harshly as he was slowly being filled completely. Lips caught his in a searing kiss again, the man on top of him remaining still otherwise, to give him time to adjust. Jean melted into those kisses, every nerve of his being on fire.

It was him who moved first, but Marco who ended up dictating the pace. Slow, and sensual, deep, making his insides quiver. Arms around his neck, Jean clung to him, feeling his strength and letting himself be rocked back and forth by powerful thrusts soon increasing in speed.

“H-harder—!” The last of words he managed to get out.

Marco’s rhythm turned rougher then, deeper still, as if he’d been waiting just for that one word. Pulling out almost completely, he drove back into him with force.  
It was the most intense feeling Jean had ever experienced. Every last doubt of his was getting fucked away, hard and fast, quickly pushing him towards the edge, and soon beyond. Again, Marco pumped his cock, timed with his thrusts, and making him cry out at last. Not even a minute later, Jean spilt himself, a silent scream on his lips as he did so, back arching off of the bed. Warm, creamy wetness squirted against his chest, toes curling. Pounding into him a few more times, Marco came as well. Quietly, face buried in his neck, with his fingers leaving dark marks on Jean’s hips as he slammed forward once more. For a few seconds, they remained like this, the both of them trying to catch their breath. 

“Damn, Jean,” Marco murmured against his collarbone, gently nipping at the skin there.

“Right back at you, man,” Jean mumbled in return, arms slumping down at his sides. His whole body was burning, covered in a soft sheen of sweat. It was as if every last bit of energy had been drained from him. 

 

Jean didn’t quite pay attention to when Marco got up a few minutes after, just lay there, completely exhausted and revelling in his post-orgasm haze. He flinched a little when, suddenly, he felt something warm and damp on his skin. Marco was cleaning him with a towel. Smiling at him, he bent forward and brushed away a few strands of hair that had got stuck to his forehead.

“Would you like a drink?” 

Nodding weakly, Jean sat up. His bones felt like jelly, a distant humming sensation in his muscles. Accutely aware of the slick feeling between his buttocks, he leant against the bedhead. Had he really just done this? Did this really happen? Eyes wandering across the room, he took in his surroundings. The walls were painted in myrtle green, every piece of furniture black—from the bedside cabinet to the wardrobe and armchair by the window. The furniture itself was of a modern design, minimalistic in nature. There was a huge painting adorning the wall to his left, depicting a thunderstorm at night. Normally, Jean would’ve found these colours too grim for a bedroom. However, when it came to Marco, he couldn’t help but think he somehow managed to bring light to them.

His eyes fell on the wardrobe again. It had two large mirrors on its doors, reaching from top to bottom. Jean realised he could’ve easily watched himself getting fucked. A strange tingling sensation pooled in his stomach at the thought of it.

“Any regrets?” Marco asked in a gentle voice, leaning against the doorframe. He’d put on a bathrobe made of moss green satin.

“No,” Jean cleared his throat. “No way in hell, man! I just—” No, he definitely did not have any regrets. “— _never shot such a huge load_...” As he said it, his face went red, luckily hidden by the dim lights filling the room.

Marco chuckled, walking over to him. In his hands, he carried a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. 

“Sorry, I suck at bed talk.”

“Here,” Marco handed him one of the glasses. “And don’t worry. I don’t mind.” 

“Thanks, man.” Jean took the glass. He watched him pour some of the golden liquid into it, not meeting his eyes.

“ _You’re welcome_.” That wasn’t meant for the drink, and Jean knew it.

Shaking his head with a chuckle, he went to sip on his drink. However, this particular whiskey proved to be so strong, he couldn’t help coughing. Not only did it burn in his throat, no, it also stung his eyes and nose. 

“Careful!” Marco laughed.

“What the bloody hell is that!?” He croaked.

“Whiskey?”

“That’s not whiskey. I’ve had whiskey before. This right here must be straight from hell!”

“Well, it’s been aged for eighteen years, so its flavour is a bit more pronounced.”

“You some kind of whiskey connoisseur or what? Only time I ever drink that stuff is with coke.”

Marco frowned, actually frowned! “I dare you to sully this one with soda of any kind!”

“What? Gonna spank me?” Jean snorted.

“I might just have to!”

The mere notion made him grin, fortifying the tingling in his stomach.  
Slowly but surely, Jean felt some of his energy return to his body.

“I have been meaning to ask, though. What exactly was it your friend’s boyfriend adviced you?” Marco then asked.

“You remember _that_?!”

“I remember everything.”

Jean gulped down more of the whiskey, face contorting at its strong taste. He couldn’t believe it. Of all the embarrassing shit he’d pulled tonight, this was what Marco deemed worthy enough to not only remember but also inquire about?

“I’ll tell you if you tell me something first,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Marco cocked his head, “Usually, this is not how this works, but I am willing to indulge you.”

“You said ‘when’, not ‘if’, when I called you. Like, how did you even know I’d call you? No offense, man, but are you that arrogant, or—“

Marco blinked, then he burst out laughing, “Are you serious!?”

Face burning, Jean informed him that, yes, he was. Also, what was so funny there?

“Jean, you were watching me for—oh, I don’t know how long—two hours?”

“Was I that obvious?”

“Didn’t you call me Captain Obvious earlier? Well, newsflash! If I’m the captain, then you’re the freaking general!” Marco deadpanned.

“So you thought I’m gay.”

“I thought you were shy.”

Shifting in his position, Jean held out his glass, “Hit me.”

“Someone ought to teach you how to enjoy a good whiskey,” Marco chided, but refilled his glass anyway. “Now, answer my question.”

“Why are you just standing there? Don’t you wanna sit down?” 

Marco sat down at the edge of the bed.

“Come a little closer, man. We just fucked, remember?”

Smirking, Marco scooted closer only to be pulled into a kiss. “No stalling, Jean,” he drawled against his lips, one hand on his thigh.

Damnit!

Between drinking, and mumbling into his glass, Jean told him about how he’d been freaking out while trying to get ready for the evening, and Eren’s teasing. 

“Like I said, he’s a douche!” He finished, eyes cast down.

“Lollipops, huh? And here I thought he was trying to scare you.” Marco’s laugh truly had something addictive to it.

“Scare me, how?”

“Well, you did seem reluctant, and you were worried about me possibly hurting you.”

Jean blushed fiercely, covering his face with his hand. “No, that was just me being an idiot. Remember, I told you I’m prone to saying stupid shit!”

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t anything serious. And you weren’t being an idiot,” Marco gave him a soft peck on the cheek. “You’ve never done this before. It was a valid concern to have.”

Talking to Marco, regardless of the subject, made him feel as if they’d known each other forever. Jean might still blush here and there, be embarrassed of himself, but he wasn’t uncomfortable. Not one bit.

“By the way, what’s that cologne you’re wearing?” Here, he moved a little closer, snaking an arm around Marco.

“Cologne? I’m not wearing any cologne.”

“Aftershave then? Smells really nice,” Jean buried his nose in his neck, placing small kisses and nips here and there.

“Mhm, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My aftershave should be scent-neutral.”

“Then it must be you.” Jean tilted his head, searching Marco’s lips for kisses gradually becoming more passionate. Arms went around him, pulled him on his lap. An all-too-familiar heat began to fill him anew, and Jean deepened the kisses.

They ended up doing it two more times that night, and by the third time Jean would be watching himself in the mirrors, with Marco taking him from behind.

[ ](http://robin-birdly.tumblr.com/post/86234217499/fanart-to-this-amazingly-hot-and-a-little-cold)

[ ](http://robin-birdly.tumblr.com/post/100029766544/happy-birthday-piro-aka-leyuannoir-i-just)

Art by the lovely [Robin Birdly](http://robin-birdly.tumblr.com). **Please, click the images to go to her Tumblr posts, leave her a like or reblog, and check out her other stuff! ♥**  


**Author's Note:**

> I’m from Germany, thus, the boys live in a fictional Germany.  
> Things that might have caused confusion/raised questions:
> 
>  **Eintracht Shiganshina:** Based on one of our major football ( _soccer_ ) teams, Eintracht Frankfurt. Eintracht means either harmony, unity, or concord. In this case, “unity” applies.
> 
>  **Liquor:** In Germany, you are allowed to drink beer or wine from age 16 on, hard liquor once you’re 18.
> 
>  **School system in Germany:** We have Hauptschule (basic education, takes 9 years to finish), Realschule (above basic education, takes 10 years to finish), and Gymnasium (higher education, takes either 12 or 13 years to finish, depending on which state you’re from) (4 years of elementary school included for each).  
>  You need a Gymnasium degree called Abitur to apply for university. We do not have colleges as you know them from the States.  
> Jean’s attending a Gymnasium and is in his last year (13th grade).
> 
>  **Marco’s accent:** I based it on two friends of mine who come from the same region. Neither of them speaks dialect, their origin is merely apparent from the way they roll the R. It’s hard to explain. Just believe me when I say it’s hot!  
>  I divided the following districts according to German states (probably only interesting for German readers):  
> Trost=Hesse ( _think Wiesbaden, Hesse’s capital_ )  
> Shiganshina=Hesse ( _think Frankfurt am Main_ )  
> Jinae=deep south of Baden-Württemberg, almost Bavaria
> 
> In my headcanon, Jean’s father was born in Saarland, a state sharing borders with France. It used to be French territory after WWII. You find plenty of people with both French and German names there, such as Jean Kirstein. My mother, for example, has a French given name, and a German surname.
> 
>  **Music-related:** Sub-bass lines are bass lines under 60Hz (down to 20Hz). On a good soundsystem, you’ll feel them more than you can hear them, the volume doesn’t even need to be that loud. 
> 
> Tune they listened to in the car: “[The Basement Track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oF0EMViISsw)” by High Contrast  
> Tune in the bar: “[Black Tower Hotel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6Q3VJEUO7M)” by Be Svendsen


End file.
